Never Say Die
by RandomPerson164
Summary: His whole life has been stolen away from him, all because of MI6 and Scorpia. But when Alex Rider runs into a reporter writing a story for the 2012 London Olympics and Scorpia resurfaces, what does that mean for our hero? And how has a mysterious American girl heard his name before? Takes place after Scorpia Rising. (It's the rewrite! Plot bugs should now be exterminated.)
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hey guys, welcome to the (rewrite of) my first Alex Rider fanfic! Now, if you're one of my long-time fans and readers, you already know that I'm rewriting this story on account of inconsistent plot and little description. That's fine, just read each newly written chapter as I post it. If you're one of the AR fans who just said "Oh, this looks interesting" and have absolutely no idea what the heck I'm talking about, that's alright. I'm rewriting this story from my previous edition (which should be down by the time I publish this, so don't even think about reading ahead!). No matter who you are, I hope that you like Never Say Die: Second Edition, and feel free to tell me if you want anything added or removed! ~RP164**

Never Say Die

Prologue

Brussels was dark. A deadly silence hung over the city like a dark rain cloud, holding the residents below hostage in a pit of pure stillness. It was the middle of the night, and not a single soul was left wandering the streets. Everyone was asleep, resting contentedly in their beds without any knowledge of anything outside of their own minds. That's why this exact time and place was chosen for this exact meeting.

A single man appeared almost out of nowhere and rested against the heavy metal back door of a run-down hotel just past the city limits. He was in his thirties, with dirty fair hair and beady blue eyes, both hidden under a black cap pulled low over his forehead. He kept his gaze on the road stretching out past him. He was expecting someone...two someones, to be precise, and they should be arriving any minute now. And after this meeting, they'll have the perfect plan. A plan that not even the greatest intelligence organization – or spy – could possibly figure out.

He heard footsteps, two pairs, coming from opposite directions. They paused after a moment.

"Wonderful weather we're having, isn't it?"

It was a man's voice, one that the man had rarely ever heard. It had sounded much different over the phone, but still managed to hold on to its choppy English accent. "I suppose so," the man in the black cap answered. "But the sun's too hot for my liking."

He looked up at the people accompanying him. One, the man that spoke, had gray hair glowing silver in the faint moonlight. The other was a woman with dark hair, mostly hidden under a similar cap. She responded first.

"Good." She looked straight at the man with the black cap. Her stormy gray eyes seemed to see into his soul. "The meeting will proceed as planned?"

"Yes." The man in the black cap turned to the door beside him and produced a key from his pocket, unlocking it and leading the way.

"We won't be overheard?" The second man was the last to enter, and glanced back though the door almost nervously. He ran a hand through his hair.

"No, Matthews." The man in the black cap locked the door behind them and twirled the key on his index finger for a moment. "I've checked this room just an hour ago. Bug-free. And besides, no one's been around ever since then. They're all asleep."

"Good," the woman echoed herself, inviting herself to take a seat in one of the three cheap folding chairs in the center of the room. The men quickly followed suit. "Honestly, Gregorovich, I didn't expect you to pull it off. You have been known to make _mistakes_ in your career..."

"Shut up!" Gregorovich hissed, composing himself within a moment. "Ms. Anniston, this meeting is not about comparing me to him. It's about Blackgate."

"Ah, yes," Matthews murmured. "Operation Blackgate. Gregorovich, you're sure that your target will be there in due time? The trap is set?"

Gregorovich nodded once in agreement. "Yes, yes. I've been planning this for quite some time. I already have a sleeper in place. It's only a matter of time –"

"How do you know that this will work?" Anniston interrupted, not caring at all about the potential consequences. "For all you know, this whole plan of yours will backfire before it even begins!"

Matthews gave Anniston a silent death glare. "Let the man speak. He is, after all, our Scorpia man. If anyone can plot the downfall of any_thing_ or any_one_, it's him."

"Thank you, Matthews," Gregorovich said with a smirk at Anniston. I told you so. "Scorpia has been monitoring this target for quite a while before now. They have held a large roll in Scorpia's work, having something to do with both of our past failures.

"Ha!" Anniston laughed heartily to herself. "Not a chance!"

Gregorovich took his turn giving her a death glare. "It's true. I'd show you the target's file, but sadly, it recently exploded." No one bothered to comment on this. "But yes, that is one of the reasons I want them dead."

Anniston smirked humorlessly. "All of this for revenge, eh? And with the Olympics so soon? That's very risky. Sounds like fun."

Something glinted in Gregorovich's eyes. Anger? Fury? Revenge? It all looked the same. "That's the cover, yes – and it'll set up the perfect trap for them. But there's another reason I want them dead...

"...They killed my brother."

**A/N: Gasp! Who is this guy's brother? Would he happen to be THE Yassen Gregorovich? Who is this mysterious target that they speak of? How does the Olympics have anything to do with their "Operation Blackgate?" What does any of this have to do with Alex's new life? And why am I asking you so many questions? I guess you'll just have to find out in the next update! Thank you all for reading! I'll have the next update up in December. (See the bulletin on my profile page.) Ciao! ~RP164**


	2. Chapter 1: The Life of Alex

**A/N: Hello everyone! I just wanted to say I don't own Alex Rider or the Olympics.**

Chapter One – The Life of Alex

Alex promised himself that he would never go back. It had knocked him down, stole his entire life away from him, and then just left him for dead. His time in England had been some of the best and worst years of his life. He never thought that he'd end up going back to the place that had caused him so much pain – never in his whole life.

And it had all starter do well.

-x-

"Alex, come on! Don't you wanna see Chinatown?"

Alex pulled the covers over his head, emitting an annoyed groan. "...Five more minutes, Sab!"

Rather than getting the five minutes of silence that he requested, the blanket was ripped from his hands and thrown back onto the bed. It took him a moment to see again, and he saw Sabina Pleasure standing over him, her hands planted in annoyed fists on her hips. "Alex it's Chinese New Year. If you don't get out of bed _this second_, you're not going to see the celebration!"

Alex Rider had been in San Francisco, California for five months now, five months after Scorpia finally took the last thing he loved away from him. Ever since he left London, he'd tried to forget about his past and make new friends, but even now he found himself alone too often.

Alex sat up in bed. "Fine," he groaned, stretching out his arms and attempting to blink the sleep out of his eyes. "Just give me a few minutes."

Sabina, satisfied with her small success, smiled sunnily and stepped out of the room. Her long dark hair made a barely audible _swish_ as she left.

Alex smiled, watching her go. She seemed to be the only thing that he could take comfort in loving, after…He shook his head. _No, you are not going to think about that. It doesn't matter any more._ He dragged himself out of bed and took a quick shower, the cascade of hot water sharpening his senses and waking him up completely, and changed into his street clothes. He pulled on a pair of tennis shoes, tying the laces tightly before hiking downstairs to see Mr. and Mrs. Pleasure sitting around the dining room table with Sabina. Of course, he knew they'd be there. Ever since he moved into this house, the family had held on to a certain schedule. He had memorized the schedule within a matter of days. At least that small part of his spy training would always stay with him.

"Good morning, Alex!" Edward pleasure chuckled slightly, looking up from his half-eaten Belgian waffles. "I assume you slept wall?"

Alex shrugged indifferently, sitting down and grabbing a waffle from the middle of the table. "I suppose so."

Edward took notice of Alex's apathy and gazed at him sympathetically, but he assumed that it was just the morning getting to him. "Well, I'll be going with you two over to Chinatown. We wouldn't want you two getting into any trouble, now would we?" He chuckled again, oblivious to the awkward silence between boyfriend and girlfriend.

"...Alright," Alex finally replied, poking his cold waffle impassively with his fork. He had suddenly lost his appetite. He glanced up at the clock on the wall above the table. 8:15 am. "When should we be going?"

"The celebration starts at nine, but if we don't get to Chinatown at least half an hour early, we won't get to see anything." Edward glanced up at the clock and laughed surprisedly. "Oh yes! We should get going. We won't want the dragon and such to pass us be before we even get there, now wouldn't we? " He stood absent-mindedly.

Alex shot a glance at Sabina, and both teenagers managed a smile. Even with Alex's ongoing half-depression and the constant sadness that seems to always follow him around, the antics of Edward Pleasure always seemed to bring the _real_ him back.

**A/N: Okay, this was short. But of course, it's just sort of introducing the situation that we find Alex in. Of course, there will be more surprises in the next update…so R&R please!**


	3. Chapter 2: Crimson

**A/N: Hi guys! I'm sorry I haven't been updating like I should be, but life has been crazy for me recently. I'm sure you all understand. :) Merry Christmas, happy holidays, happy New Year, and a very happy No-pocolypse to all of you!**

Chapter Two – Crimson

Grand Street was, in a word, crowded.

It was 10 am, just an hour after the beginning of Chinatown's festival, and the festivities were far from being over. Edward Pleasure walked along Grant Street with his daughter and Alex, pointing out all the little details of the Chinese New Year celebration and just waiting to write it all down for the San Francisco Chronicle. They had walked for about an hour before they stated their hunger, and had accompanied each other to a small restaurant – Chinese, of course – for a quick bite to eat. Edward decided to stay nearby and begin his article. He removed a small notebook from the pocket of his coat and took note of every single thing: the abundance of red, the Chinese lucky color; the multiple gold-colored dragons appearing from everything from paper lanterns to signs to chopsticks, the...

"Pleasure!"

Edward suddenly turned, following the sound of his name to a slim Caucasian man in the street, noting the British accent laced around the single word. He was wearing a simple gray suit was half-running, half-walking toward him with a notebook in his hand. A grin creased the man's face as he neared Edward.

"Zimmerman!" Edward greeted and firmly shook his hand, offering a smile just as warm as his friend's. "How have you been?"

Zimmerman's smile turned a little sour, and he spoke with a slight sigh. "Not as good as I'd hope I was," he started cryptically. "I had to turn down a huge opportunity for an article down here. I had to turn down the Olympics, Pleasure!"

"The _Olympics_?" Edward's smile grew a little wider. It was a great honor to write about the Olympics, no matter where you were from – but especially for those from the host country. "How did you manage to get an offer like that?"

"I don't know – the had probably heard about my article about the Crossroads conference in Paris. But I'm already on a story here; I can't do two different stories at one time!" He chuckled to himself, trying to lift his spirits, but stopped when he realized that it wasn't working. "So Pleasure, are you on a story at the moment?"

"Not yet." Edward had to yell over the din of the street for his voice to be heard. "But I'm trying to write something for the Examiner on this year's Chinese New Year celebration."

"I can tell. ...Why don't you take the article, then?"

Edward stopped walking, nearly running into a pair of Chinese shopkeepers, and stared at his friend in surprise and shock. "Really?"

Zimmerman laughed heartily, his green eyes glinting with amusement. "Of course! I couldn't think of anyone better to take the job." He fished around in his pocket for something and quickly produced a business card, handing it to his friend. "This is the number of the coordinating office for the Olympics. They wanted me to call back, so just tell them that you want to take my place."

"Thank you very much," Edward replied gratefully, scanning over the card before patting Zimmerman on the shoulder. "I'll be sure to do that.

Zimmerman glanced at his watch and bit his lip warily. "I'm afraid I have to be going, friend," he concluded, turning on his heel and walking away. He threw one last comment over his shoulder before disappearing into the dominantly black-haired, thin-eyed crowd: "Au revoir!"

-x-

Alex started back toward the street, a box of steaming sweet and sour chicken in one hand and a pair of unusually splintery chopsticks in the other. It had been Sabina's idea to get food, since they had already spent nearly two hours walking already. She knew one of the restaurant owner's daughters from school and decided to stop by – she'd also heard that they had the best lamein in all of Chinatown. For the past five minutes they had wandered the street, trying to find Mr. Pleasure, talking about the most random of topics. The first was a rant about the lame fortune in Sabina's fortune cookie; the next, the supposed Mayan prophecy of the world ending in December (**A/N: Just the fact that you are reading this right now means that this prophecy is totally bogus.**); and then, the continuous idea of the sun exploding.

"...I don't see how come people are so afraid of the sun exploding," Sabina was saying, lifting a lamein noodle from her takeout box with her own chopsticks, gesturing with them slightly. "It's not like we're going to suffer too long after it happens, right? We're only..."

The one-sided conversation quickly grew boring to Alex, to he allowed himself to stop listening and stare off into space for a moment. He subconsciously focused on one face in the crowd; when he regained his focus, he realized that it was Mr. Pleasure, walking toward them with a spring in his step. The man cut off Sabina when he spoke.

"How do you two feel about England?"

"No!" Alex's yell turned a few heads within the nearby clusters of people, causing curious and nervous glances and whispers directed toward him. He lowered his voice as he continued. "I've told you before, I never want to go back there. I have nothing left there."

Edward sighed softly, trying to place a comforting hand on Alex's shoulder but failing when the teenager moved away. "I understand you, Alex. I know that you have... troubling memories of England But this time is different. Nothing is going to happen to you this time, I promise you. And besides," he added with a hopeful smile, "wouldn't you like to see your other friends again?"

_I do_, Alex thought wistfully. But then his thoughts went negative. _He doesn't know what happened to me while I was there. Who caused me to lose nearly everything I love. Who caused me to lose a part of myself in the process. ...What friends do I still have there?_ Despite himself, he sighed reluctantly. "Fine, I'll come along, but on one condition."

"What's that?"

Alex looked down at his Chinese chicken, noticing that his hunger had suddenly vanished along with his happiness. "We stay near Chelsea. If we have to be there, I at least..." he felt his throat tighten at the thought, but said it anyway. "...want to see my uncle."

Edward, not picking up on Alex's sadness and grief, smiled cheerfully. "Sounds like a plan."

They started walking back to the Pleasure residence, starting up a friendly conversation about possible ways for the world to end, but Alex wasn't interested in this. He was focused on the colors around him: blue, green, gold... crimson.

It was funny, how accurately the color crimson could have symbolized the anger and hurt within the past two years of his life. There were so many memories of his that could be described as crimson: the death of his uncle; the trials and hardships of his training at the Breacon Beacons; the heartbreakingly cruel plan that the psychopath Herod Sayle had for his Stormbreaker computers... They were countless, but mostly contained anything between Ian Rider's death and the present day. Each memory had a shade of it own, a personalized version of the single color that could have been used to paint an angry sunset on a canvas. The earlier the memories were, the lighter color they produced in his mind. The darkest memory? Holding the gun over Julius's head, watching himself pull the trigger...

...Watching himself blow a hole in his own heart in the process.

The overabundance of the Chinese lucky color was hurting his heart. He couldn't stand to be around such a memory-inducing color any longer, so he averted his eyes, gazing own at the plain gray pavement under his feet. _Look at me. I'm turning into some kind of writer, thinking about metaphors and symbolism and all of that._ He subconsciously stuffed his hands into his pockets.

_At least that's better than a spy._

-x-

From the shelter of a dark alleyway hemmed with Chinese shops and restaurants, Zimmerman stood silently, watching, waiting. He had heard every word of Edward Pleasure's conversation – he had a tiny skin-toned contraption similar to a hearing aid lodged into his right ear, and the card was bugged. Not like anyone would notice; it was hidden in the center of the card, disguised as the dot of the "I" in the word "Olympics." Whoever had designed it certainly made sure to dot their i's, he remarked to himself, smirking at the clever joke.

Once the speech diminished into the common Chinatown babble, Zimmerman took out his mobile phone, specialty made and untraceable, and dialed a single number. As he held it to his ear and listened to the dull dial tone, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen to his friend within the next few days. He didn't hive time to start thinking about options before his call was picked up.

"What's your status?" The voice on the other end was calm, yet hid a deadly venom within its faint Russian accent.

Zimmerman rehearsed his line in his head, making sure that he did not sound nervous or distracted. "Mission successful, sir. Everything has gone according to plan."

"Good." The voice sounded slightly distant and thoughtful, as if it was already planning out something in the near future. Zimmerman heard a faint click accompany the voice. "Good. I only have one more thing to add..."

As if on cue, a cloud of green-tinted smoke sprayed out of the phone's mouthpiece, surrounding Zimmerman's head entirely. He tried to push the smoking mobile phone away from his face, but the gas was already sticking in his throat and nostrils, making it impossible for him to breathe. Stars danced in front of his eyes, then he dropped like a stone, falling into the cold embrace of the swirling blackness.

"...I hope you enjoyed your life."

The line went dead.


	4. Chapter 3: If Only

**A/N: Hey guys, I'm back! :D I'm so sorry that I haven't updated in forever. To tell you the truth, I actually had chapter 3 done for a while now… I was originally going to wait on posting it until I finished chapter 4, but I've kept you waiting long enough. ****That, and I've been inspired by a review by some anonymous person on the Internets who calls themself Guest1. (Thank for that, by the way!) **Enjoy! 

Chapter Three – If Only...

_If only it never happened._

Alex stood silently in the middle of the cemetery that he knew all too well, staring down at the headstone bearing his uncle's name. He had been regretting his decision to accompany Edward Pleasure to London for the past four months now, and he kept telling himself to change his mind and reject the previous offer. But something kept him from doing it, and now he was here, the one place in the world that he hated as much as he loved. It had only been two days since he and the Pleasures had landed at Heathrow, and luckily no terrorist organization had tried to take a shot at any of them yet. That was supposed to be a good sign. If so, then why did he feel so unnerved?

_If only it never happened._

If Jack hadn't died and he'd defeated Razim the way he had with all of the other villainous lunatics that he had met in the past, if he'd never been drafted into the deceptive world of spies, if Ian Rider had never died in the first place because of Yassen Gregorovich... If none of that had happened, he would not be in the mess that he was in now. He wouldn't be broken, lied to, scarred, internally damaged forever.

_If only._

"Why did you do it?" he asked the stone, as if it could help him actually speak to his uncle again. "Why did you let yourself get wrapped up in this?" Feeling the wet sting of tears well up in his eyes, he looked up, staring past the somber gray clouds at the bright blue sky beyond. "Did you want this to happen to me? Did you want me to follow in your footsteps? ...Is that what you wanted all along?"

Ian Rider didn't respond.

_He was a real patriot._

For a moment, Alex was fourteen again and attending his uncle's funeral, standing exactly where he was now, listening to people he had never known in his life speak about the man who'd taken care of him all his life. He had been confused, curious, unsure of the comments that the deceased man was receiving. _Patriot?_ he had wondered. He had been blind to the true nature of his uncle's banking job. _He's not much of a patriot if he's never in the country..._

"...Alex!"

Alex jumped slightly, not expecting the sudden voice that broke him from his thoughts. He threw a glance in the direction that the voice had come. Only then did he remember Sabina, standing quietly at the entrance of the cemetery, waiting patiently for his emotional moment to cease. Apparently, she had grown tired of the _patiently_ part. He felt his cheeks grow warm and averted his eyes. "…Sorry, Sab."

Sabina dismissed his apology with a simple wave of the hand. "No, it's fine. But you need to hurry up, though. We're heading out to lunch soon." Alex could plainly hear the uncertainty in her voice.

With a reluctant sigh, Alex took one final look at the mound of dirt where his uncle lay, letting the image sink into his mind before turning and running down the path back to Sabina.

_If only..._

-x-

"I've got him."

It was barely past noon, and the sun streaked lazily through the dirt-stained windows of an apartment high above the London streets. Not even one of the three figures noticed the beauty and warmth of the summer afternoon, and instead focused their attention on the more important matters of their business. They stood around each other – well, two were standing around the third – in the center of the room, a tense silence drifting between them. The third person, the man with the laptop lying on his lap, was typing furiously, only pausing for a split second every so often to examine a certain image or set of numbers that flashed before him on the screen. He only completely stopped when he spoke.

The woman, standing behind the man on his right, clasped a hand on the shoulder of the man standing beside her. "Would you look at that," she commented, her voice airy but deceptively cruel. "You actually got something right for a change, Greg!"

"Shut up," she man called _Greg_ hissed, flinging the woman's hand off of his shoulder in mild disgust. He turned his attention to the man with the laptop. "Where is he, Williams?"

Williams scanned the laptop's screen again before replying. "He was at Brompton Cemetery – he was probably visiting some dead relative or something – now heading south on Fulham Road."

The woman snorted slightly, not even needing to gesture to the second figure in the picture. "He's not alone, Gregorovich."

"I know." Gregorovich's voice stayed frighteningly calm and blank. "That's some friend of his. She's not important, though." A sigh of regret escaped his lips. "As much as I hate to say it, I'll let Anniston handle it – later. She'll find a way to... get rid of her."

Despite the warning later glare that she was receiving from her colleague, Anniston smiled cheekily. "I was hoping you'd say that."

**A/N: Yes, I know that this chapter is really short, especially compared to my others. But this is actually pretty good, especially considering that this chapter has at least 2 times the words that the version 1 chapter did. Anyway, I'll also be getting into the Olympics part of the story sometime in the next few chapters. Ciao for now!**


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